ACT I | Part 1 - The Imprisoned

Visions of last night pass through everyone's unconscious minds. The poisoned governor, the frantic barmaid, barking guards swarming into the tavern, ending with sharp pains striking the backs of your heads...

The still sore and pounding lumps are likely the first thing you all feel as the grogginess lifts and eyes slowly flutter open. Mossy, grime-coated stones are what serve as your current cots and pillows. Dripping from the nearby trickling water spout in your cell tells your parched throats that at least the dungeon you're in isn't totally without remorse for its incarcerated denizens. There is little light within the cell save that which comes from a nearby dying torch's flickering embers.
Aside from the torch and the water, all is silent within this gaol. It's hard to say whether or not any guards are nearby or patrolling.

What a way to make a name for your party in the capital... First, you were just barely on the lips of others. Now? Now you're likely to be muttered as assassins and traitors to the crown...
Well, in any case... Not much to do now except to make idle chatter with one another.

As Bull grips the bars, he can feel the damp chill that coats them. He tries to bend the bars managing to at least hear some creaking. Alas, the bars of their confinement are strong and far from malleable.
Standing closer to the dimly lit hall though, the bisren can hear what sounds like something skittering in the darkness from the end that has no lit torch. Perhaps a rat, but even one as dull as Bull recognizes that it's a bit bigger than a regular rat. A giant rat maybe?

Drova looks down the darkened hall where Bull mentioned something like a rat was heard. The dwarf's eyes spy the reddened outline of something alright - but not anything that would suggest a rat. Instead, as the creature rears its head around the corner of what might be a cell or an alcove, she recognizes the form of a goblin. It seems to have some sort of sack hoisted over its shoulder.
The goblin finally notices everyone in the cell and stares inside from a distance. Then everyone can hear its dry laughter as it points at the bars. Before it starts off further down the dark hall, it shakes its rear at everyone, cackling something in Goblin. Afterwards, it's gone.

Bull collides with the thick iron bars, causing a clatter to partially echo through the stone halls. The bars barely bent, their foundations unbroken. Some dust lightly tumbles down onto the ever-more pounding head of Bull.

"Oi! Keep it down, down there! Some of us don't get to sleep a whole day like you traitorous scum can get in a dungeon cell!" Cries out a voice from around the lit hall's corner. The sound of a slam notes their exit, as sudden as they entered.

As Bull continues to muscle the sturdy iron bars, Vallana searches the dimly lit cell. Alas, all she can find is moss, grime, a rusted manacle, and some small loose stones.
Both activities go on for maybe five minutes. Strangely, the guard that called out previously does not call out once more, despite the din of Bull's escape attempts.

"So then, you lot are the supposed killers of a royal official, eh?" quizzes a voice from around the corner of the torch. How they got there is quite curious since not a footstep was heard coming down the hall.

A small chuckle comes now, followed by another. The voice that previously spoke was obviously of an older gentleman as he steps out from his hiding spot and into full view of the cell. The other voice that emitted the second chuckle was more notably feminine, though the second figure that comes up beside the man is seemingly more androgynous. The man, his face still shrouded under his cowl, makes a deep bow.
"My my, a few questions to answer, eh?" he says coming back up. He pulls his cowl down to establish a better view for everyone. As does their companion.
The man has the visage of someone around their late 40's or early 50's, yet there seems to be more to them than that. Their hair is in the middle of graying, giving the appearance of pepper and salt of their short hair and pointed goatee.
" Let's see, where shall I start," he ponders, playfully scratching his chin. "Ah, of course, names! You lot, for now, may simply call me Merlin; it's what everyone calls me. This," he says, motioning to the other, "is Sparrow, my protege. We're thieves, mainly; that's how we snuck by. Well, at least until Sparrow conked the poor sod who is currently sleeping well in the room down the way. That ought to answer the first few questions."
Merlin, as he's introduced himself, takes a break from speaking momentarily as he takes a look back down the darkened passageway. He turns his attention back to the group after a moment or two.
"Now then, regarding that Elvish saying. Are you sure that it's quite that? I've heard many a guard say so my entire life. But, of course, what thief WOULDN'T have something to hide, mm?"
He seems to chuckle a bit more.
" But yes, you are quite astute that we've come to free you, but the price is your own to pay towards yourself. It just so happens that in doing so pays forward to my own goal. Or rather, the organization I represent. There is much to speak of, but I would say that being cooped up in a cell in a goblin infested dungeon is not the most comfortable place to do so. For now, Sparrow and I shall break you lot out and then steal away through a secret passage. Though, I expect to now find it to be goblin territory. And as such," he pauses as he approaches and quickly picks the lock on the cell door, letting it creak open, albeit a bit bent from Bull's charge. Sparrow then pulls out a knapsack and opens it. " You'll be wanting your gear, aye?"

"Hungry, eh big fella?" Merlin joyfully responds. He reaches into the sack, his arm going in well past his elbow, and pulls out some dried berries and jerky.
"Not much, no, but we'll be sure to get you lot some proper food once we're out of here."

Afterwards, he reaches in and begins returning everyone's gear that was "liberated" from where they were stored away.

"Only somewhat, I'm afraid," Merlin replies to Vallana, looking back down the dark passage.
"I've not used it myself, but I've heard rumors and stories. Most people are held in cells of constabularies nowadays, not ancient Elven dungeons."

"Tis not called an Oubliette for nothing," Merlin replies to Scharle. "It means "to forget." And I've a notion that whomever it was that killed our dear minister wished to ensure that you were forgotten."

After a few more moments, he reaches into the bag and retrieves what looks to be a piece of dark rock. Though slender, it was the length of his forearm.
Muttering a command to it, the rock turned from a dark hue to one much lighter and began to produce illumination!

"Is everyone ready to set out?"

With the lit stone held aloft, this Merlin leads the way. The one known as Sparrow takes up the rear.
The light is fairly voluminous. The reach of it extends perhaps 30 or 40 ft and bends sharply around the corners of long abandoned cells that have been left to rot. Bones, large and miniscule, can be found throughput them, scattered as they were. Rats scurry away from the party into their little nooks that serve as their dens.
After a bit, the corridor comes to an end. A solid wood door stands in the wall, slightly ajar; hanging inwards towards the group. It appears that something on the other side may have forced it open at some point long ago. It offers little resistance to any who wish to push it aside and enter the small room that it acted as a portal for.
The small room is roughly maybe just 15 foot along each wall. Crates, barrels, and sacks lay in various states of ruin. It's obvious to see where rats gnawed at. It's also obvious to tell where a goblin ransacked. A table sits in the center with a rusted lantern atop it. The secret passage, however, is quite plain for all to see.
What once was perhaps a false wall had been bust down and gathers dust on the ground. The stone passage goes long into the darkness without any hint of a turn or an opening into a cavern.

---

The tunnel seems to go on and on and on and further still. It's maybe an hour later after their slow walk before an opening can be spotted just ahead. As can a flicking fire. The scent of horrible goblin cooking wafts in. Chattering can be heard, but it's unclear as to what the subject may be. Merlin extinguishes the light before moving the party any further.

"Ah, was 'fraid of this," he whispers.
" Don't suppose you lot are of the stealthy persuasion? I can fight, but we," he points to himself and Sparrow in the dim lighting, "are much more of the "get by without a peep" lot."

Merlin looks back at Sparrow who simply shrugs. Then after a small sigh he leads the party up to the mouth of the tunnel and lets the front liners take their positions.
Looking inside, it's easily seen that there are eight goblins arrayed around the fire and the cauldron of goblin stew. Makeshift beds are strewn about and seem to be made of broken crates and other materials. Only one tent is visible.
A lone goblin stands upon a stool and stirs the bubbling gruel. Aside from one other, the rest are asleep. The other that remains awake sits upon a "throne" of sorts. They're much bulkier than the lean green beans that are about, but certainly not a hobgoblin nor a bugbear by the looks of them. They seem distracted for one reason or another.

Sparrow dashes out past Scharle as he readies his bow. Her blade drawn, she trusts it down into the form of a slumbering goblin. Nary a sound escapes their lips aside from an escaping death rattle. Then flew Scharle's arrow, flying true through the air and piercing through the leather armor of the goblin warrior. Merlin follows up with Scharle's arrow with one of his own. Though it hits, the damage it did was fairly negligible. Then came the rushing bull that was, er, Bull. His horns, sharp and long, gore the poor chef as he goes limp almost immediately.

With the party having struck the goblin camp, catching them totally off guard, two of the eight goblins already lie dead. In reaction, the larger goblin warrior lets out a shrill, bloodcurdling war-cry to rouse their camp!

Surprise round - Over!
Round 1 - Start!

Scharle lets loose another arrow which flies unerringly and protrudes from the chest of the goblin warrior. It would have perhaps tried to swat back at Drova. Alas, her mace came down from overhead and smashed its skull in, leaving the rest of the goblin camp leaderless.
The other goblins rise and strike back! Two sharpshooters among their ranks let loose arrows of their own! Goblin 1 fires at Scharle, seeing that arrows from his bow were instrumental to felling his superior, dealing 6 damage! The other fires at Drova, whose armor is penetrated by a well placed shot, dealing 5 damage!
Goblin 2 tries to square off with Sparrow, but neither are able to land a single hit. Their blades clanging off one another.
Goblin 3 attempts to loose an arrow towards the charging Bisren, but the arrow falls limply to the ground with a clatter. His fear is realized as the bull-man's axe cleaves him in twain. Merlin winces as he watches the carnage. Nonetheless, he does his part to aid the battle. An arrow of his flies an strikes the side of Goblin 2 and fells it on the spot.
Goblin 5, the slowest and grogiest, tries hacking at Bull's ankles, but to no avail...

Round 1 - over! Round 2 - start!
3 goblins remain!

Scharle returns fire after taking his hit. Unfortunately, his fingers fumble on the bowstring and the arrow clatters harmlessly a few feet away.
Goblin 4 attempts to fire once more at Drova as she looks to start moving towards him, but misses by a wide margin.
Sparrow moves to try and dispatch 4 after witnessing Merlin slay the foe she was previously battling. However, the foe was a bit more slippery than anticipated.
Goblin 1 fires again and grazes Scharle with their arrow this time. The pain wasn't as bad this time, but it still stung!
Goblin 5 hacks at Bull's hooves to no avail, yet again.
Merlin looses another arrow, this time at Goblin 1, but goes wide.
Bull, wondering what that funny tickle is around his hooves, looks down to see 5. With a quick swipe, the axe just about cleaves through the little blighter as he falls into a heap.

Round 3 - start!
2 goblins remain

With two axe swings, Bull and Scharle end the fight. The remaining goblins have been felled.Merlin and Sparrow approach everyone. The elder man draws out potions of healing for those who need them.
"Well then, that was quite exciting!" quipped the thief. "Drova and Scharle - you both seem to have been injured. Allow me to offer these potions to you. I was going to give them to your trio once we reached safety, but now seems as good a time as any.
But now, we had best continue on our way. We still have longer to go before we reach fresh air and, perhaps, moonlight."

If there are no objections, Merlin draws his glowing stone and leads everyone through the next tunnel.

And watch he does as Merlin leads the way, seemingly as vigilant as the Halfling. The tunnel seems to go on, and on, and on, and on. Forks, winding paths, openings wide and small - these are all the things that were further encountered by the handfuls. Plenty of cave-ins as well. Bones of humanoids were found in one such one that may very well have once led to an egress point into the city. Alas, it seems like a decade may have passed since it happened. Other cave-ins show evidence of goblin bones in them. Likely failed tunnels that they may have used to once infiltrate the city.
After hours of slow walking, the party finally reaches an exit. Merlin explains that if they had gone further, rumor has that it would eventually exit the city by a homestead that has long laid abandoned and in decay. This exit, however, should open into the basement of what should be a tavern nowadays.
Lo and behold, the exit opens into a cellar filled with kegs of ale, beer, cider, and mead. Bottles of wine line racks along the walls. The door of the exit being a rack on the end. Barrels and sacks of foodstuffs are carefully placed in the corner opposite.
There is no sounds up above, cluing everyone that everyone must be abed now at this late hour. Extinguishing his glowstone, Merlin cautiously leads everyone upstairs. Not a lit candle nor lantern sits or hangs in the tavern. The thief remarks that this must be The Jovial Halfling, a local favorite. Even he himself found the odd occasion to come and enjoy the company and drink found here. Nevertheless though, more important matters were at hand. Gazing out the window, the twin moons were slowly dropping to the horizon. Maybe only 3 hours of night were left to give them a stealthy blanket with which to pass by. After releasing the latch lock and letting everyone out, Merlin cleverly relocks it from the outside.

---

It was soon after that everyone came to what would serve as the trio's safe house. It was a two-floored bunkhouse that bore no signage, leading one to assume it was a private housing. After rapping his knuckles on the door in a peculiar fashion, Merlin is met by the face of a middle aged woman holding a candle aloft. After some quick chatter, she lets everyone inside and looks around outside to ensure no one was watching before closing the door.
We'll keep the introductions til the morn," she says with a yawn. "[b]I expect you lot are an exhausted bunch, so I'll show you to your beds promptly. I'll see to it that you get a good meal then/b]"
She leads everyone up to a common room with three pairs of bunk beds and two larger beds and then bids everyone good night.

"She spoke of breakfast, dear friend," Merlin says as he removes his armor to get into one of the bunks. Sparrow is already on the top bunk, a sly smile on their face. "For now, rest in comfort. You're out of a dank dungeon cell."

---

It is roughly 10 in the morn when the smell of freshly cooked bacon starts wafting up the stairs and into the party's bedchamber. A small bell that hangs over the side of the door rings gently to awaken those still abed and notify that food is ready.
Those who make their way down will find bacon, scrambled eggs, bread, and sausages on plates ready for them. With the exception of Bull - he finds a platter tray laden with foodstuffs in place of a plate.

"Think nothing of it, dear," the woman says as she collects finished plates. "My late husband was the same way for food. Ate voraciously for a halfling.
Ah, but you'll likely be here for a good bit. Best not forget to introduce myself. You lot may call me Mrs. Cranfoot. I run this here hideaway for the Gilded Chalice.
Which, er, you lot don't appear to be of, am I correct?"

"Ah, so you're just people that Merlin is helping then," Mrs. Cranfoot says as she pours some water into a cup and sips from it. "Its one of the local thieves guild. Thieves with honor, he'd put it. Steal from the wealthier folks to help those poorer. That sort of ideology."
After a bit more of time passes, the front door opens and in comes Merlin, his cowl still drawn up.

"Ah, good morning everyone," he warmly greets. "Get some better rest with a pillow under your head rather than mossy stone?"

"There will be time for that later, friend," Merlin smirks. He drew back his obscuring cowl as it was no longer required inside. "For now, we must lay low; don't want to arouse suspicion quite yet."

He comes over and sits at an empty seat, grabbing a slice of buttered bread and munching on it.
"I've sent Sparrow out to do some reconnaissance and collect word from the street. As far as I've heard, there's just been murmurs of an exceedingly overpowering arrest about what was a 'bar fight.' The fact that the death of Governor Rondelm isn't upon the lips of people has me extremely worried and perplex. For how could the death of such an individual be so utterly hushed up?"
Merlin's face scrunches up in annoyed bewilderment as he continues to eat his bread. After a minute, he shakes his head, as if to cast off a buzzing insect that landed on his pate.
"Well, there will be time to ponder it more later. For now, we've other matters to discus. Such as my interest in springing you three.
Tell me, have you ever wondered if things ever seem seedier than others might view them?"

Merlin seems to chuckle at the first bit of what Scharle remarked upon, seeing as bribery WAS apart of his profession.
"Ah, quite astute, but alas, I refer to something grander than simply ignoring something for a bit of extra coin," he starts. "No, no. What I speak of is corruption, secrecy, betrayals, and other issues of a broader spectrum. Spies are employed to either sniff out such issues at home, or to cause them whilst abroad. Unfortunately, I feel as if the latter is becoming the former."
Merlin takes a moment to clear his throat and take another drink, seeing if the good hostess is nearby.

"You see, the good governor you witnessed perishing was a confederate of mine. Sir Rondelm was not only the Governor of Affairs for the kingdom, but also master of spies. He and I belong to a group known as the Silver Aegis. We seek to root out tyranny before it can take hold, or to save those from its grasp.
Rondelm was on to something - something to do with the missing princess. Normally, we would work behind the scenes to resolve things, but here we are with a few more questions...
Firstly, why would he send for aid outside and call upon your group?
Secondly, how could he have been poisoned?
And thirdly, WHO poisoned him?
The second is quite vexing to myself, as I knew him to be a highly cautious man. He always kept a hip flask on his person as he always feared poison in his cup. So if it was indeed his own flask that had been poisoned, just how did his assailant get close enough to do the job..."

Merlin shakes his head as if he were being shook awake.
"No, no! We kill no one! At least, not unless we are forced to defend ourselves."

"Yes, well, for now, we'll wait and see what Sparrow finds," Merlin sighs. "I've a sinking feeling in my gut should an assassin be involved, or worse yet, someone else from Rondelm's own service..."

---

Hours pass, leading the sun towards its rest as the twin moons begin to bathe the city in their soft glow. Dinner is served - sausages with rolls and mashed potatoes. There has yet to be any word from Sparrow.
Around the hour of 9, a light rapping came at the door, and in they finally came. And, rather than speak to everyone, they instead handed Merlin some parchment with writing on. He could only let out a chuckle and a sigh.
" My apologies for not explaining before, but Sparrow has taken on a bet with another guildmate. To remain silent for a few days, I believe it was. My child is quite the ambitious one, so they're dead set on winning the bet.

Which reminds me, how many more days must you remain speechless? This is important work we have here."
Sparrow raises a pair of fingers, prompting Merlin to nod and chuckle some more. He held up the parchment to some candlelight in order to read it better.
"Ahuh... Sparrow, excellent work indeed. Handwriting needs a touch of work though still." he jested. Sparrow returned with a flipped bird.

"Now then, our kind rogue has made some quick notes of the things the found.
Firstly, the groups of guards that arrested your group were already amassed prior to your arrival at the tavern. Certainly something planned.
Secondly, upon inquiring with the barmaid of that night, she had not seen Sir Rondelm enter the room they supposedly rented. Instead, the figure they had shown back was one of a lean build, short, and of blonde hair. In fact, they had not ordered anything to be brought to the room.
Thirdly, when the body was taken away, the barmaid saw no cadaver being carried away - only the same person they had shown back previously..."
Merlin looks obviously troubled by these notes.